The Courtesan
by misschosaku
Summary: A beautiful courtesan is hired to seduce the heir to the throne so that the present ruler can remain King.
1. The Courtesan

_"Viviane…" he whispered her name softly, caressingly, lingering over it as though it were a precious jewel. _

_In response her head tilted back on her slim, elegant neck, and he pressed a kiss to it. Then another, working his way up to her mouth. Her dress was being unlaced, and this time she wanted it to be. He sighed deeply. "Viviane…"_

Viviane stretched luxuriously in her enormous bed, smiling slightly as she remembered the dream. As a courtesan, it was her job to please men, but never before had she dreamt of actually wanting the man, heart and soul. It was a strange experience for her, and she did not wish to dwell upon it. As she usually did with the unwelcome thoughts that were not needed, she pushed the memory of the dream to the back of her mind. Sitting up, she stretched again, admiring the contrast that her creamy skin made with the rich golden orange of the silk bedclothes. Stretching her arms to the sides, she luxuriated in the feeling of the silk bed curtains against her smooth fingers. Smiling to herself, she slowly pushed the covers back, letting her legs slid out of the bed onto the rich golden carpet that lay beside it. Standing up, she walked over to her wardrobe, pressing the bell to ring for her maid, Ariana, to attend her.

Ariana, being an experienced and loyal maid, was at Viviane's side in moments, and Viviane smiled graciously at her. "What shall I wear today, Ariana?" she asked.

Ariana opened the wardrobe, pursing her pretty lips together as she considered. "What do you have planned, Lady Viviane?" she asked.

Viviane shrugged, expressionless. "I have no set plans as of yet," she replied.

"Then perhaps…a simple morning gown, suitable for walking and visiting?" Ariana suggested, pulling out a lovely dark blue gown of satin, complete with small puffed sleeves and trimmed with emerald green lace. Viviane nodded. "That will do nicely, thank you, Ariana," she said.

Ariana nodded, helping her mistress out of the pink silken nightgown she wore and into the blue morning gown.

Viviane seated herself before her mirror. "My hair, Ariana?"

Ariana curtsied, hastening over to twist Viviane's thick, dark hair into a tight braided bun at the base of her neck. She fastened a small golden chain around Viviane's neck, added golden bracelets set with emeralds, and finished off the effect with gold and emerald hairpins.

Viviane smiled. "Lovely," she said. "Lovely."

Just then a knock came at the door.

Viviane raised an elegant eyebrow. "Who is it?" she called out, her voice musical.

"An envoy of His Majesty, King Frederick!" cried a voice from the other side of the door.

Viviane's eyebrow went higher. "Let him in, Ariana," she said. Ariana nodded, heading over to the ornately carved door. Viviane turned back to the mirror. Tilting her head, she considered her reflection. She had just pinched her cheeks to add color when Ariana let the envoy in.

"Lady Viviane?" he asked. He was young, and looked new. Viviane didn't recognize him.

She turned to face him fully, a welcoming smile on her face. "Yes?"

She could tell that he was shocked by her. Men often were, and this one looked to be a virgin to boot. Smiling seductively, she said "What is it?"

Gulping slightly, the young envoy stammered "K-king Frederick requests your immediate presence in his study. He has business to discuss with you. He says to tell you it's urgent."

This time Viviane raised both eyebrows. "Urgent, is it?" she smiled. "Tell his Majesty that I will be there as soon as possible."

The envoy nodded. When he didn't leave, Viviane added "You may go."

Blushing, the young man turned and practically sprinted from the room.

As the door slammed shut, Ariana chuckled slightly. "You really ought to tone it down a little around boys like him, Lady Viviane," she reproved.

Viviane smiled. "I ought to, but that would really spoil all my fun," she purred.

Despite herself, Ariana laughed again. "As you wish, Lady Viviane. Now, I take it you would like to change before your meeting with the King?"

A broad grin crossed Viviane's face. "But of course," she said smoothly. "I always want to look my best in front of His Majesty."


	2. A Meeting with the King

Dressed in a clingy silk gown of spring green, with a sheer over gown, her hair in one long braid, Viviane knocked lightly upon the door to King Frederick's private study. A moment later Frederick's voice called out "Come in!"

Viviane pushed open the door. Frederick's study was a spacious, rectangular room without any windows, and the light came from two small chandeliers hanging down from the ceiling. The room was furnished lavishly red and gold, causing Viviane's light green outfit to stand out-as she had intended.

King Frederick's eyes widened at the sight of her. This was not unusual. Of all of his ladies, Viviane was the most beautiful, the most seductive, the most experienced, and the most intelligent. It was her job to shock and entrance men, even the King himself. Not that Frederick had any objection to being entranced by a creature as lovely as Viviane.

Viviane let his eyes wander over her body, taking in the way that her gown emphasized her curves. His eyes lingered a moment on her breasts, then moved up to her face. Her full lips were painted, and she wore heavy eyeshadow a shade lighter than her gown. It sparkled.

A necklace made of twisted silver and gold strands and small seed pearls dipped down between her breasts, further drawing attention to them. A few strands of dark hair hung down, curling about her shoulders.

Finally Viviane cleared her throat delicately. "You asked to see me, King Frederick?" she said lightly.

Frederick snapped to attention. "Oh yes," he said. "Viviane, as you know, you are my best courtesan. No one in the entire kingdom comes near your equal."

Viviane inclined her head modestly.

King Frederick cut straight to his point. "I need you to do a job for me, Viviane."

The eyebrows rose. "A job, Majesty?"

Frederick nodded.

Pursing her lips slightly, Viviane turned, allowing the King's eyes to follow the curve of her thigh as she did so. She leaned towards him, putting a hand to her chest as she did so. "What sort of job might that be?" She allowed her hand to slide down, across her breast, and down across her buttocks to her side.

Frederick's eyes widened slightly, but he stayed composed. "A seduction."

Viviane smiled. "A seduction, my Lord?" She let herself linger over the word my, and was gratified to see him close his eyes in reaction.

When he opened them again, he nodded. "Yes, a seduction. As you know, it is the custom-indeed, the law-in this country that when the heir to the throne reaches the age of twenty-one, he or 

she will take the throne, regardless of whether or not the old ruler still lives." He paused, taking a breath. "I won this throne, Viviane, through hard work. I poisoned King Charles, seduced and married his widow, Queen Elissa. Then I sent her son, Prince Simon, away to school so that he would not be there when I poisoned the Queen."

Viviane nodded. She knew of this.

"I worked hard for this throne," Frederick continued, "and I want to keep it. I do not want some ignorant young pup of a boy to come and take it away from me. It is my throne now, and I will keep it."

Viviane tilted her head to the side. "But what does all of this have to do with _me_, my Lord?" she asked, letting her hand rest on her chest on the word me.

Frederick smiled slightly. "Patience, Viviane. I am getting to that. Now, Simon's twenty-first birthday is in one month's time, and in two weeks he will be coming here to prepare for his birthday ball and ascension to the throne. When he comes, I want you to begin seducing him. I will give you further instructions in due time. Of course," he added, "there _will_ be a substantial reward."

A grin crossed Viviane's face. "Hmm…" she mused. "Seduce the Crown Prince, get a reward. How could I refuse?"

Frederick beamed. "Excellent!"

But Viviane held up a finger. "But," she continued, "if I am to seduce a Prince, I am going to need a much larger clothing allowance. Appearing before him in these old gowns I should feel almost…unclothed." She let him take this in, knowing full well the mental picture she planted.

At last the King nodded. "Very well. Your allowance will be doubled. Order your gowns."

Viviane curtsied to him. "Thank you, your Majesty." Turning on her heel, she smiled over her shoulder and left.


	3. The Prince

**Okay, so I know people are reading this from the stats…and it would be REEEEEEALLY nice if I could have some reviews ******** It'd help. So please review. Thanks.**

_Two Weeks Later…_

Viviane stood before her mirror, admiring herself. The King was holding a small, informal welcome dinner for Prince Simon, and he had especially asked for her to attend. Of course. It would be an easy way to introduce her to the Prince, and thus she took extra care with her outfit. She wore one of her new gowns; it was dark green silk with black ribbons. Her hair hung loose, braided throughout with emerald colored ribbons and diamond clips. A silver chain hung with tiny diamond chips hung about her neck, and matching earrings at her ears.

The gown was low cut; Viviane had a lovely chest and wished to show it off to her advantage. Seducing someone was greatly helped by showing one's chest, she found. She pulled the longest diamond chip, set exactly at the necklace's center, lower so that it went almost below the neckline of her dress.

"Lady Viviane?" Ariana's voice interrupted her thoughts. "It is time, my Lady."

A smile spread slowly across the courtesan's face. "Wonderful," she purred.

Music was playing, and some guest were dancing as Viviane entered well-lit dining hall, making note of the guests. Sir Rupert, Sir Richard, and Sir Thom stood by one of the smaller tables at the side, flirting with Ladies Philippa and Rosamunde. Viviane expected no competition from their corner. Lady Philippa was engaged to Sir Richard, and Lady Rosamunde was too dim-witted to be a successful courtesan of any note.

Viviane let her gaze wander away from the five to the other side of the room, where several of her fellow courtesans were entertaining King Frederick and a tall, strikingly handsome young man she assumed to be Prince Simon. As she looked at him, Frederick glanced up, and he beamed.

"Viviane!" he called, "Come here! There's someone I'd like you to meet!"

Smiling broadly, Viviane made her way to the King's side, swaying her hips gently from side to side as she walked. She noticed the young man watching her, and smiled even more.

As she reached King Frederick, he gestured to her with a flourish. "Lady Viviane, this is my step-son, Prince Simon," he said smoothly. Prince Simon bowed over her hand, and Viviane allowed her smile to become dazzling.

"Welcome, Prince Simon," she said softly. "I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance."

"And I yours," the Prince replied. Viviane considered him. He really was very handsome. Dark, silky hair fell just below his shoulders and was tied with a blue velvet ribbon, which matched his brocaded coat. His legs, clad in white silken breeches and black leather knee boots, appeared strong, and his arms too. His face was striking, perfectly proportioned save for a slightly crooked nose. His smile, open and cheerful, was very welcoming. Viviane raised her gaze to meet his eyes, and was caught by surprise. Prince Simon had the most beautiful dark blue eyes she had ever seen.

Aware that she was staring, she broke the eye contact. She could feel a faint blush on her cheeks. That was not supposed to happen. By rights, he ought to be the one blushing, not she. Schooling her features into a seductive smile, she said "Prince Simon, perhaps you would do me the honor of a dance? The music is quite entrancing, do you not agree?"

"Yes, of course," Prince Simon said suavely. Viviane thought _ He is no fool. He knows a courtesan's ways, and I do not think he entirely trusts me. Wise of him, but we will soon deal with that._

She cleared her throat. "I believe you are supposed to offer me your arm, Prince," she said delicately. She had the satisfaction of seeing him blush. So he wasn't as composed as she'd thought. Good. That would make her work easier-though this Prince would still pose a challenge.

Viviane and Simon danced three times during the evening, an experience which Viviane found to be quite pleasant, indeed. The Prince was an exceptionally graceful dancer, and his conversation was witty and entertaining. She almost found herself disappointed when the evening ended, and she left the group for the comfort of her own, spacious chambers.

Almost.


	4. The Ball

Viviane sighed, letting herself fall gracefully onto the garden bench. "I feel faint!" she exclaimed, slumping over slightly so that her shoulders were exposed. Instantly several men rushed to her side proclaiming that they would help. Prince Simon, she noted, was _not_ among them.

It irked her. She wore her most becoming gowns and jewels, did her hair in the very latest fashions, was witty and charming…and still Prince Simon remained stubbornly uncaring. She wondered: _Could he know of the King's plan?_ But that seemed unlikely. The King had told no one else.

She shook her head, then glanced up beguilingly into the eyes of Lord Arthur. He was bending towards her, offering his assistance. She graciously took his hand, glancing surreptitiously at Prince Simon to see if he'd noticed. He hadn't. He was turned the other way, talking to Lady Yvette.

Viviane was too well bred to show it, but inwardly she was fuming. Never before had a man resisted her attentions before. She would have to work harder. Prince Simon would have no chance. None at all. She smiled to herself. She would have revenge, and it would be sweet.

That night there was to be a grand ball introducing the Prince officially as the Heir. It was to be a magnificent affair, no expense spared, and, for Viviane, it was the first step towards ensnaring the Prince's heart.

She dressed with care, this time choosing her most provocative gown, red and black silk and taffeta. It had a low, rounded neckline, which forced anyone looking at her (and she knew he would be) to notice her breasts, pushed invitingly up. The black sleeves fit tightly until her elbow, then branched out, finally ending in a trim of crimson lace. The bodice was also tight, showing off her perfect figure and tiny waist, and the skirt puffed out, unlike many of her gowns. The skirt was crimson taffeta, with a panel of a slightly darker shade, embroidered with flowers, set in font. Small slits along the bottom revealed black lace underskirts.

Her hair she let hang mostly loose, with some of it twisted up with gold and ruby pins on the sides of her head. To accent the gown she wore a small ruby teardrop on a black ribbon, and on her wrist she wore a strand of twisted red gold, set with small rubies and garnets.

Finally, she added red dancing slippers, a red fan trimmed with black lace, and careful makeup. Prince Simon would have to be mad not to notice her. She smiled.

When Viviane entered the ballroom, trumpets played a fanfare, and she curtsied elegantly, her eyes sweeping the crowd for the Prince, He was not there. Of course. He would arrive last, so that all could see him. Nodding and waving, she made her way over to a few ladies standing by the wall.

Viviane made meaningless chatter until the heralds' trumpets announced Prince Simon. Then she looked up, allowing him to meet her eyes as he descended the grand staircase. His own widened, which pleased her. This was an improvement. He was noticing her. So he wasn't so oblivious, after all.

Unfortunately, Viviane had no chance to speak to the prince until the end of the ball. At last, seeing him without a partner for the waltz, she pulled him out onto the floor with her.

He seemed shocked, but not averse.

Viviane waited, but he did not speak. So she did. "My dear Prince," she said softly, making sure that no one else could overhear, "We appear to have gotten off on the wrong foot, so to speak, and I am most distressed about it. I did so long to be your friend, and I must confess that your coldness confuses and saddens me. What have I done to deserve such cruelty?"

Gazing innocently at him, she waited for his reply. Now he would apologize, horrified at the distress he had caused her. He would be in her bed that very night. She was preparing for what to say next when he spoke.

"What have you done, Lady Viviane? Need you ask? How could you ever think that I would stoop to friendship with one like you?"

Viviane's eyes widened in genuine shock. "One like me, my Lord?" she asked, startled.

The Prince's mouth tightened. "Yes, one like _you_."

"Whatever do you mean?" Viviane asked, honestly confused.

"One of your profession."

She tilted her head to the side, beginning to understand.

"My profession, Prince? And what could you possibly mean by that?"

His eyes narrowed. "You know perfectly well what I mean."

Viviane was getting angry, but she was determined to force him into saying it. "In all truth, my Lord, I know not."

The Prince glared at her. "So that is how you wish to behave," he muttered. "Very well. One of your kind, Lady Viviane. A _whore._"

Viviane's mouth widened in shock. Never had a man so rudely insulted her in her life. Breaking their grip, she pulled away from him, stalking away across the ballroom.


	5. Lissane's House

Viviane paced about her room, muttering crude things under her breath. "That bastard!" she exclaimed, stomping her foot. "How DARE he?"

She couldn't believe it. What noble man would object to a courtesan's company? And how DARE he call her a whore! As if she were a common slut working in an alehouse for her bread and board! To imply such a thing was beyond rude. It was downright unpardonable. Had the King not ordered it, Viviane would have loved to drop the whole affair right there.

Taking a deep breath, Viviane sat down to compose herself. She fell asleep muttering expletives.

The next morning Viviane awoke to the sounds of shouting. "War! War! The Kemarians have declared war! Fight back! Fight Kemaria! Fight for the King and his Heir!"

Stunned, Viviane sat up. War? With Kemaria? Then a thought crossed her mind-Prince Simon, as heir, would be required to go to battle. "I hope he is killed," she muttered viciously to herself.

Six days later, Viviane was in the courtyard waiting to ride to the country house of her Aunt Lissane. It had grown unsafe in the castle, and the courtiers were being sent away for their own protection. She was waiting for her escort-King Frederick had still not chosen one for her.

To her surprise, Prince Simon appeared, a glower on his face. She turned to him, arching a thin eyebrow. "What are _you_ doing here, Prince?" she asked disdainfully. "I hardly think you are here to see me off."

"On the contrary, _Lady_ Viviane," the Prince said, lingering sarcastically on the word lady, "I am going with you."

Viviane's jaw dropped. "_You're_ my escort?" she exclaimed. "It can't be! Surely the King would want you by his side to fight for your country!" _And to be killed without his being directly associated with it. After all, so many accidents can happen during a battle. It would be easy for an archer to shoot Prince Simon and no one would ever know it was King Frederick's idea. _

Confused, she looked up at the Prince. He sighed. "King Frederick feels that as the Heir, I would be safer in the country, out of harm's way. Since you had no escort to travel with you, and since your Aunt Lissane lives quite far away from the Palace, he seemed to think it an ideal situation."

Viviane smirked. So he had to stay in the same house as her. Well, that would be interesting. "And you disagree." She said. It was not a question.

He nodded curtly. "But of course. You are not surprised." It was also not a question.

Viviane nodded stiffly. "Well," she said, "if we are to travel together, I think it best we are on civil terms, _Prince._"

Prince Simon bowed smoothly, but it was a mocking bow, not low enough to mean anything. "Of course, _Lady._" He returned. "Of course."

Those five days were the most miserable days of Viviane's life. Simon was sulking the entire way-because he wanted to fight or because he had to accompany her, Viviane could not determine, and Viviane was busy trying to seduce him-and failing dismally.

When the party finally reached Lissane's house, Viviane dismounted as fast as she could at the sight of her dear aunt rushing to meet her. She had never been so glad to see Lissane in her entire life.

"Vivi!" her aunt exclaimed, "I'm so glad to see you, my dear! And you've brought the _Prince_, too! What luck! My humble home will be honored indeed!"

Briskly and efficiently, Lissane had all the servants in their places, horses stabled, baggage put away, and rooms ready. When all was done, she invited Viviane and Simon to join her for dinner in her rooms.

"I prefer to eat here when I don't have many guests," she explained. "It's much cozier, and I love my rooms so."

Viviane smiled at her. "I'm sure we will be very happy here, Aunt," she said. Turning to Simon, she asked "Prince Simon, do you know how long the King expects us to be here?"

"I do not know," the Prince responded, emotionless. "But my guess is for a while. It seems I shall not be taking the throne any time soon."

_Hmm…_Viviane mused. _Does Frederick hope to keep Simon here and have him killed by me? Maybe a quick knife in bed? A hunting accident?_ She began to see why Frederick had sent Simon away. This way he could have no hand in the Prince's murder.

Sure enough, a few days later she received a sealed letter from Frederick. It read:

_Viviane-_

_Seduce Simon, then kill him. Do not disappoint me._

_F_

She burned it upon receiving it.


	6. Dinner and Singing

Over the next few days, Viviane did everything in her power to entrance the Prince subtly, while appearing outwardly indifferent to him. Lissane could not understand it.

"I do not see why you are so indifferent to His Highness, Vivi!" she exclaimed over tea one day in the parlor. "He is the _Heir_, and he is staying with _us_! Surely you cannot be insensible of the great favor that King Frederick is showing us!"

Viviane snorted. She knew exactly why Simon was here, and as for favors…well, she was the one giving them, not Frederick.

"Vivi! Are you listening to a word I just said?" her aunt demanded.

Viviane shook her head to clear it, apologizing prettily to Lissane. "I fear I was not, ma'am," she said politely. "Do forgive my transgression."

Her aunt smiled at her, appeased. "Forgiven, my dear," she said. "But about the Prince…"

"What about him?" Viviane asked coldly.

"Yes, what about him?" echoed a voice. It was Simon.

Viviane turned and saw him in the doorway. He had been riding, she could tell, for his breeches were lightly dusted with gingery horse hair, and his tall black boots were covered with mud splatters. His hair was mussed, and there was a smear of dirt across one cheek. A twig was caught in his hair. Viviane smothered a giggle at the sight of the haughty prince looking so unkempt.

"Oh, Your Highness!" exclaimed her aunt. "How silly of me not to notice you! Do go upstairs and refresh yourself-we still have a few hours before dinner. Oh, and I've invited a few close friends of mine from nearby, I hope you don't mind? No? Good. It's not so many, we should number nine at the dinner table, and we'll have cards afterwards. Perhaps Viviane will even consent to sing for us! She has a lovely voice, you know-"

Lissane stopped. Simon was no longer standing in the doorway. "Oh," she said.

"See what an abominably rude and arrogant man he is?" Viviane cried, raking advantage of the situation.

"Nonsense, Vivi darling. He's a Prince. He probably thought I had stopped talking to him! Anyway, I'm sure he must have far more important things to do than listen me jabber away!" she finished brightly. "Now off with you! Bathe yourself and dress for dinner! And, Vivi?"

Viviane looked at her. "Yes, aunt?"

"Don't dress too…revealingly, would you dear? I don't want to shock our guests…"

Vivinae nodded. "Of course, Lissane."

Two and a half hours later, Viviane was dressed, and she was quite pleased with the result. Her luxurious hair was pinned in a loose bun at the base of her neck, and wooden hairsticks with pearls on the end held it in place. Around her neck she wore a single strand of pearls, with a pearl teardrop hanging from it, and she wore pearl teardrop earrings to match. Her dress was pink and cream silk, with a ruffle-covered sweetheart neckline, and puffed sleeves. The overgown was sheer, and it fastened with a pearl and gold pin below her breasts. Her slippers were white silk, embroidered with pearls. Not _too_ revealing. At least the majority of her breasts was covered.

She made her way downstairs, and Lissane met her at the bottom. "Vivi, lovely!" she exclaimed, glancing at the dress. "Most appropriate. You have such a sense of style, my dear. Come."

Lissane led the way into a dining hall, where guests were already arriving and seating themselves. Lissane led Viviane to a seat a few down from her own at the head of the table-right across from Simon's. Viviane hid a grimace. Seducing him was distasteful to her now. Damn Frederick and his plans. Damn him!

Lissane seated herself, then rang a small bell by her plate to call everyone's attention to her. "Guests," she said pleasantly, smiling down the table at everyone, making eye contact with each guest. "I cannot tell you how pleased I am that you all came to my humble gathering tonight. I would like you each to rise and introduce yourselves to the people staying with me, as I doubt they've ever met you before!" she laughed. "Although you all know me, I will begin. I am Lady Lissane of Coutrell, this estate. This," she indicated Viviane, "is my niece, Lady Viviane, who will one day inherit the estates of Delmare and Elsven. And this," she indicated Simon, "is Prince Simon, the heir of the country, and King Frederick's stepson."

The guest clapped politely for Simon, and then the man seated next to him stood. "I am Henri, Viscount of Sorenden," he said.

"I am Elissa, the Vicountess Sorenden, and Henri's wife."

"Lady Mara of Sybell."

"Geran, a country squire."

"Alana, his wife."

"Bettin, their daughter."

"Sir Tyrone, her fiancé."

Viviane was bored. Dinner was excellent, of course-Lissane was a fabulous manager of households-but the company was thin, and Prince Simon kept staring at her. She could not fathom it. If he was so opposed to her, could her not just ignore her? Was he unused to seeing her so properly dressed? Was he maybe rethinking his harsh words? She laughed to herself as the last thought crossed her mind. Prince Simon rethink his judgement of her? Ha! Never.

After dinner, the party retired to the large parlor, and they sat about, trying to think of something to say. Then Simon stood up and walked over to the piano. "I have been told that the Lady Viviane has an excellent voice," he said. "I would be much obliged if she would sing for us. I will accompany you, my lady, if you wish it."

_Hmm. What is his game? _Viviane wondered. _Does he think I have a bad voice, and hope to show me up? Well, we'll see about that!_

Taking a place by the piano, she smiled at him. "I would be honored to have you accompany me, " she told him. "What songs do you know, Prince Simon?"

"The classics, of course," he said, "and some war songs. I was taught a few ballads in old Elvish, and some love songs."

Viviane bared her teeth in a grin. "Oh, by all means, let it be a love song, Prince," she said. "Do you know _Lisrael mi vo ca Teira_?"

"My Lord is the King of My Heart?" Simon asked, raising an eyebrow as he translated-perfectly, of course.

Damn. He had realized the significance of that particular song. She covered her embarrassment by smiling again. "Beautifully translated, Prince. Do you know it? It is one of my favorites."

He gave her an odd look. "And one of mine. My mother taught it to me before she…yes, I know it well. Shall we begin?"

Viviane gave a curt nod, and she turned to her audience. Simon played the opening bars, and she opened her mouth.

"_Lisrael mi vo ca Teira_

_Si vai domingo rae da_

_Eis nar sil mar con faedra_

_Lo, li noma, mi vo!" _ she sang, letting the familiar old Elvish words roll off her tongue easily, and letting herself get swept up in the music. Singing was one of her true talents, and she hardly ever got a chance to sing at court. She opened her mouth wider for the next part.

"_Lo, li noma, mi cara_

_Mia, ti veia, ti vola!_

_Lo, li no oh oh oh oh oh oh ma!_

_Lo, li no oh oh oh oh oh OH MA!" _The music slowed, and Viviane took a breath before continuing on.

"_Lisrael mi vo ca Teira_

_Si vai domingo rae da_

_Eis nar sil mar con faedra_

_Lo, li noma, mi vo_

_Eis rein, das lora_

_Mi cara, mi cara_

_Mi vo, mi vo, mi vo oh oh_

_Mi vo, mi vo, mi vo oh!_

_Taras, kan libras feil dansa_

_Taras, kan dura_

_Si barra_

_Lisareal, lisreal, bet kindra_

_Mi vo est ti vo con fa!_

_Con fa ah_

_Con FA!"_

On the last note, high for Viviane's mezzo voice, she flung her arms out. Simon played the last chord, and the music ended, the notes lingering on the air for a moment. Then the applause started.

"Brava! Bravo!" cried Geran, jumping to his feet. "That was marvelous! What a voice you have, Lady Viviane!"

Viviane inclined her head to him. "My thanks," she said. Then inspiration struck, and she held a hand to Simon, indicating that they should bow together. He hesitated, but finally took the offered hand and stepped forward, and both bowed together.


	7. Taran

Over the next few days, Viviane and Simon were asked to sing and play together many times by Lissane, who often would not let them retire to bed without a song or two first. The two of them became adept at working together musically, although their outer behavior towards each other did not change visibly.

One day, as Viviane was practicing a song Lissane had requested, Lissane herself burst into the parlor, waving a letter and looking overjoyed.

"Vivi, Vivi!" she cried. "You will never guess! You never will! Oh, it is so exciting!"

Viviane took her aunt's hand, leading her to a sofa to sit down. She fetched her a glass of water, and when Lissane was calmer she asked "What is it, Aunt? What news have you received that so excites you?"

"You'll never guess!" Lissane twittered gleefully. "We are to have another house guest!"

Viviane sighed. "Who is it this time, the King himself?" she asked sarcastically.

"Viviane, for shame! As if King Frederick would leave his troops to fight alone! No, it is my nephew, Taran! He is coming to stay here with us!"

Viviane pulled away from her aunt. "I feel faint," she said hastily. "I must be overtired-I pray you excuse me."

Without awaiting an answer, she ran off to her chamber. There, she collapsed in a chair, numb. Taran of Donegal. She knew him-oh, yes, she knew him. When she had been thirteen, she had come to stay with Lissane for a couple weeks. While she was there, Taran and some of his school friends came to visit and hunt on Lissane's estate. Viviane, being young and impressionable, had become enamored of Taran-and why not? He was three years older, not unsightly, and could hunt, fight, and do virtually anything better than any of the other boys. The day she left, she'd slipped a poem to him in his pocket, telling of her adoration.

She had forgotten about him until Lissane had mentioned him. Of course she was not still in love with him-she never had been, really. A schoolgirl's infatuation with an older boy had been the summary, and it would remain such. She could not allow for distractions. She had a Prince to seduce.

Two days of Taran was enough to cure Viviane of any worries about distraction. He had grown from a proud, handsome young man into an arrogant, haughty, and still more handsome gentleman. She disliked the way he sneered at Lissane-though her Aunt was too featherbrained to notice-, how he leered at her, and how he flattered Simon, currying favor with the Heir. He was a thoroughly despicable man.

That was why, when she was in the stables one day, and ran into Taran, she was barely civil.

"Good moring, cousin," she said stiffly, making as though to move past him. He blocked her.

"Good morning indeed, fair cousin," he returned, smirking at her. "Even more so now that you are here. You enhance its beauty, dear cousin, if I may be so bold."

Viviane rolled her eyes, but remained silent.

Taran pushed her into a stall. "I want to ask you something," he breathed in her ear. His breath was damp and smelled of meat. Viviane backed up.

"What is it, cousin?" she asked, trying to appear cool and collected.

"Marry me."

"What?!" Viviane exploded, but before she could go on, Taran pressed his sweaty mouth on hers and shoved his tongue into her mouth. She gave a muffled squeak and pulled away.

"How _dare_ you!" she exclaimed. Taran backed up, wiping his mouth on his dirty sleeve and looking angry.

"How dare you impose upon me in such a way!" Furious, Viviane slapped him without thinking. The sound resounded across the stable. Before he could react, she was out the door and running for the house.

She did not hear Taran mutter "_Bitch,_" and then, softer, angrily, "You will pay for that."

One early afternoon, three days later, Viviane sat in the parlor, alone. Lissane had gone to visit all her tenants, and would not be back until the evening. Simon had gone out hunting, and the servants had the day off. Taran had gone for a ride. She was pleased to see that her slap had put him in his place. He had clearly learned his lesson.

She was looking forward to a day of reading and solitude, and she had just drawn the curtains and started on a new book when she heard a creak on the floorboards outside the parlor door. The she heard the door open. She stood up, curious. Who was still around that would come into the study?

The door opened all the way, and Viviane dropped her book. It was Taran, and he had a decidedly ugly look on his face. His eyes were narrowed, and he crossed the room in three strides. In an instant he had her wrists pinned beneath his hands.

She struggled. "Taran, what do you think you're doing?" she demanded, half disgusted, half furious.

"Oh, come on, Viviane," he said persuasively, dangerously. "You know you want me-I remember that poem from years ago-you wanted me then, and you still do. But, being a lady, you don't want to admit it. Luckily for you, I know you want me, and I want you. So this is your lucky day, cousin."

"_What?!_" Viviane screeched.

"No one's home," Taran sneered. "Don't worry-they won't hear us-your reputation will be safe."

Viviane struggled harder, but in an instant Taran had her pushed up against a wall. With one hand he reached up and savagely tore her bodice away, revealing her chemise. He ripped that off too, and his eyes gleamed as her shapely breasts were revealed. Eyes alight, he pushed her down, landing her on a sofa. He jumped on top of her, holding her down, and began licking her breasts, fondling them, nipping at them with his teeth. Viviane screamed, but no one was there to hear. She wanted to vomit, to lash out and kill Taran, but she could not move. He pressed his mouth to hers, forced his tongue into her mouth, and moved it around. She bit him. He pulled back and spat at her.

She glared defiantly at him. It was the wrong thing to do. His eyes narrowed, and all of a sudden he pushed her skirts up, pulled her underdrawers down. He stared hungrily at her revealed body. He plunged his fingers into her, and she screamed again-in pain, in humiliation…she knew not which. All she knew was that if Taran could not be dead, she wanted to be.

And then he began to unbutton his trousers. Her eyes widened in fear, but his hand slapped over her mouth before she could scream. He got ready to lower himself into her. Viviane closed her eyes and prepared to scream as loud as she could.

"STOP RIGHT THERE!"

Viviane's eyes flew open. Taran bolted up to face the newcomer. It was Simon, and he had a rapier in his hand. "Back away from her, Donegal," he warned, pointing the weapon at Taran.

"She wanted it!" Taran protested. "She's a little slut-she wanted it! She wanted me!"

"You are a filthy bastard," Simon spat, his voice icy cold, "and if you ever call her that again, your tongue will be cut out. Is that clear?"

Taran opened his mouth to retort, but Simon inched closer with the sharp rapier, and Taran rethought his answer.

"Yes, your highness," he spat.

"Close up your pants," the Prince spat.

Defiantly, Taran re-buttoned his pants, glaring at Viviane the entire time.

"Good," Simon hissed. "Now leave-_now_!"

Taran did, scurrying from the room as though he had been scalded with boiling water.

Simon ran to Viviane's side. She was still breathing raggedly, and she looked down and saw that her bodice was gone. She blushed. Simon noticed both the lack of bodice and the blush, and he hastily pulled his coat off and gave it to her. She took it gratefully, puling her skirts down.

"Are you alright?" Simon asked, concerned. "Did that bastard hurt you?"

"No, you came in before he could rape me," Viviane said. Better to state the facts simply than to blush and blunder through them. Then she opened her mouth again-she felt that she ought to thank him for saving her. But her damnable pride interfered. Instead she said "Why did you do it? You hate me."

The concern melted from Simon's face at her cold tone, and he answered, equally icily:

"We all do things we regret, sooner or later." He got up to leave. Over his shoulder he said. "Bring me the coat later, after you've found proper clothing for yourself."

And he was gone.

That night, Viviane sat in her room, alone, thinking. She held Simon's coat in her hands. He had saved her. And how had she repaid him? By treating him like dirt. Hell, he had every reason now to believe that she'd seduced Taran-had invited the assault.

For some reason, she could not bear for him to think that. Quickly, before she could think the better of it and change her mind, she got up and made her way to Simon's chambers, coat in hand. She knocked on the door cautiously.

Simon answered it. He was also alone. When he saw Viviane, his features became icy, and he asked coolly "What is it, my lady?"

Feeling suddenly embarrassed, Viviane held out the garment. "I brought you back your coat," she said softly.

"My thanks," Simon said curtly. He turned to go back into the room, but she put a hand out to stop him.

"Wait, please," she said. Simon turned back around slowly.

"I…thank you," she said, blushing and looking at the floor. She managed at last to look him in the eye. "Thank you for saving me."

Simon looked at her, and he was that she meant it. In one glance he read her thoughts, and before she knew it he had swept her up in his arms and carried her into his room. He put her down on her bed.

Then he looked at her questioningly. She could see that he did not want to be like Taran-forcing himself on her. She met his gaze boldly and nodded. He climbed into the bed with her. A hand reached out to caress her hair.

"Viviane…" he whispered her name softly, caressingly, lingering over it as though it were a precious jewel. In response her head tilted back on her slim, elegant neck, and he pressed a kiss to it. Then another, working his way up to her mouth. Her dress was being unlaced, and this time she wanted it to be. He sighed deeply. "Viviane…"


	8. Confession

The next morning, Viviane awoke in Simon's bed. Simon lay sleeping next to her. Her thoughts were in turmoil. She had just spent on of the most wonderful nights of her life with this man, and she was under orders from the King to kill him. How could she kill him now? After all that had happened? She couldn't. But-orders were orders. If she refused, _she_ could be killed. And Simon would be too. Then both would be dead, and what good would that do anyone?

Viviane sighed. Frederick had never specified how long it had to take her to kill Simon. It couldn't hurt to have a few nights of pleasure before she had to kill him. She closed her eyes, appalled at herself. But, for the moment, her instinct for survival was strongest in her. Leaning over, she pressed a kiss to Simon's forehead, then got up, clothed herself, and made her way back to her rooms.

That evening, Viviane and Simon sang together again-Taran had left, thankfully-and when they finished, and took hands for their bow, Viviane felt a small piece of crumpled paper slipped into her palm. After they bowed, she pressed her hands to her chest in a gesture of gratitude, and surreptitiously pushed the note down her bodice. Afterwards, alone in her room, she unfolded it. It read:

_Viviane,_

_I apologize if last night was distasteful to you. But if it was not (and I dearly hope that is the case), then let me know by leaving your door unlocked tonight. I will come by at midnight to see._

_Yours,_

_Simon_

Viviane sat still. He wanted her. He wanted to spend the night with her again. The plan was working. So why did she feel a sense of emptiness inside? Maybe she should lock the door-keep him at bay, and then kill him without any more shared nights. But then, selfishly, she remembered the pleasure she'd experienced. She'd known making love could be that pleasurable, of course, but had not experienced it until the previous night. Sighing, she got up and unlocked the door.

When Simon came to Viviane's door that night, he held his breath. He turned the knob slowly-it was unlocked. Breathing a sigh of relief, he entered the room, shutting and locking the door behind him.

Viviane was sitting in an armchair by the fire, reading. When he entered, she looked up, and a smile of real happiness broke across her features. She put the book down and came over to him.

"You read the note?" Simon asked, "You left the door unlocked purposefully?"

Viviane said nothing, but she wrapped her arms around him and pulled his head down to hers so that she could kiss him, leaving no doubt as to her intentions.

Simon returned the kiss passionately, their mouths moving together in perfect harmony. When at last they broke apart, Viviane had to take a moment to catch her breath. When she did, she walked slowly towards her bedroom, swaying her hips from side to side alluringly. Simon followed, catching her hand in his own and letting her lead him to the bed.

Viviane lay down, pulling the thin robe she wore off and throwing it to the floor. Simon joined her on the bed in mere moments, having torn off his nightshirt and slippers. His bare hands reached out to caress her body, and Viviane closed her eyes, giving herself over to pleasure.

For the next few weeks, every night Viviane would leave her door unlocked, and Simon would come, staying until early morning, when he would hurry back to his own chambers. The two took to taking morning rides together, usually ending in passionate kisses under the trees. In the afternoons they would read in the library, or go for walks, or slip off to a bedroom for a couple hours. As the affair progressed, Viviane grew more and more attached to the Prince, and put off killing him longer and longer, giving herself more time with him.

At last, after a month of this, Viviane decided that enough was enough. She could not go on in this manner any longer. That night, when Simon came, she told him.

"King Frederick hired me to seduce and kill you," were the first words out of her mouth. Simon stopped.

"What did you say?" he asked, disbelieving.

"Your stepfather hired me to seduce you and then kill you," Viviane said, choking on her tears.

"So this was all…" Simon started, but she broke in, unable to let him think that she did not care.

"No! No! You're wrong!" she cried. "At first, yes, I was thinking that I had to kill you. Frederick ordered it-he wants to remain king. But then-now-how could I? I..." she stopped, and then said something she had never before said to any man "I love you."

Simon stared at her for a long moment. She watched him, eyes pleading, begging him silently to believe her. He had to!

"My stepfather ordered this?" Simon asked finally.

She nodded. "Yes. And he-he killed your father and mother, Simon. He wants you dead so he can remain the king."

Simon's face contorted with pain, and Viviane let out a sob. She could not bear for him to look like that. She ran to his side and flung her arms about him, holding him close to her. "I will not kill you," she told him sincerely. "I would sooner kill myself. But-you must leave. Now. It will not be safe for you here if Frederick finds out that I am in love with you and will not kill you. You have to go, Simon. Please."

Simon was silent again. Then he said "I will go, but not without you. I have friends who rule other countries-my good friend Michael, from school, is now married to Ysbeau of Lyons, and they will shelter us. I can build up an army there and take back the kingdom from my stepfather. But I will not go anywhere without you. I will not leave you to his mercy. He could kill you."

Viviane shook her head. "If I leave with you, he will know at once what has happened. We will be hunted and caught within weeks. But if you go, and I remain…I can pretend that I have killed you. Write to me under a false name-that way we can stay in touch. When you win the kingdom back from Frederick, I will be there for you, waiting, and alive."

Simon wanted to protest, to beg her to stay by his side, but he knew in his heart that what she said was true. He nodded in resignation. "Stay here," he told her. "I will leave tonight, and write to you as often as I can. What name shall I put on the address as my own?"

Viviane thought. What would not arouse the suspicions of Lissane? "Write your name as Lynet," she told him. "Lynet of Meridon-she was one of my friends from childhood."

Simon nodded. He wrapped his arms around her in a final embrace, then pressed a kiss to her lips. He stroked her hair gently, kissed her again, and was gone.


	9. A Letter From Simon

The day after Simon left, Viviane sat in her room all day, pleading a headache. It was so unfair-just as she fell in love, really, truly in love, the man she loved had to leave. _It's for his own safety-and my own,_ she reminded herself. But it was no good. She was still heartbroken.

Two days later, she wrote to Frederick.

_It is done._

_Viviane_

She cried herself to sleep that night.

The first letter from Simon came three weeks after he had left. It was addressed to Lady Viviane, and the return address was Lady Lynet, The Inn of the Golden Stag, Dray. She breathed a sigh of relief. He had made it that far. Dray was a small town on the outskirts of the country, and it meant that he would soon be out of Frederick's jurisdiction. She pleaded sick and retired to her room to read the letter.

She had received love letters before, of course-she was, after all, a courtesan-but never ones that had meant anything to her. Those other men had been jobs, assignments from her king. She'd never truly cared for any of them. She opened the letter breathlessly, hands trembling. It read:

_My dearest Viviane,_

_I have reached Dray safely, and plan to stay at least a week-it is safe here, Frederick's soldiers do not even patrol. I plan to go next to Martalis. I have disguised myself-I dyed my hair black, and have spent much time indoors, so I am now quite pale. I cut my fingernails raggedly, and now resemble any impoverished peasant traveler. I am quite safe._

_I have come to the conclusion that it would be unwise for you to reply to these letters. Your friend Lynet, being a lady, would be unlikely to frequent the sorts of inns I am forced to stay at to avoid recognition of any kind. We take enough risk in my taking her name in order to write to you._

_I confess, it would likely be better if we were to have no written correspondence of any kind-if these letters were found in your possession, they would incriminate you at once, and you could be killed on grounds of treason. But I find I am selfish, and I cannot give up the pleasure of writing to you, even if I can hope for no letters in return. When I am safe in Lyons, perhaps you may write to me. A lady could, after all, stay in the palace there without suspicion, and you would be safe in writing to Lyons. You could even begin a correspondence with Queen Ysbeau-that is not suspicious in the least._

_Forgive me-I am quite inept at writing to ladies. I do not know what you expect in this missive-compliments? Terms of endearment? Declarations of heartfelt love? Poetry? _

_I am no poet, Viviane, but compliments, endearments, and declarations I can give you aplenty. Shall I? But you are not here-you cannot answer me. So I must choose on my own. And as I miss you so, I choose to give them to you. _

_For compliments, you are the fairest woman of my acquaintance, you have the loveliest voice I have ever heard-musical even when you do not sing-, the most delicate hands and feet, the softest lips…you are, in short, my personal Aphrodite. My goddess of love and beauty. _

_As to endearments-you are my love, my heart, my dear one. You are my darling, my beloved. _

_And declarations. Well, I can offer no proof of my devotion from this far away save to ask you to remember those nights we shared. That month of bliss. Take that as your declaration-can I give one truer?_

_Viviane, I adore you. You are my lover, my friend, and, I hope, one day you will be my wife. Dare I hope for this? Do I aspire to high? I can but hope that I do not, and that you will one day be mine in all ways-bound both in legality and truth._

_Until the day we meet again, my love, _

_Simon_

Viviane was silent for a long time after she received Simon's letter. It was by far the truest, most sincere, most honest letter a man had ever sent her. For safety's sake she ought to burn it, so there would be no evidence against her should anyone have suspicion that Simon lived. But she could not destroy it. What if he managed to send no others? This was her only proof of him, that he had lived and loved with her. That he was reality, and not a dream of heaven. This was her remembrance of him. She could not give it up. Not even if it could mean her death.

Viviane searched around her room for a place to hide the precious letter, at last settling on a hidden compartment in one of her trunks. No one knew about it besides Viviane, not even Ariana, her maid in Frederick's palace.


	10. Frederick's Proposition

Three weeks later, Viviane was summoned to court. She asked her aunt to please forward all her mail to her, packed a few trunks, and was off. She felt rather like Daniel walking into the lions' den. Who knew what awaited her at court.

Her first day back at court, Viviane was summoned to Frederick's study. She chose her gown with care, as usual, picking a dark blue and black silky gown that emphasized her curves well. She wore a small black veil flipped back over her luxurious hair and a necklace of sapphires.

Frederick greeted her courteously, asking how she'd been.

"Perfectly well, thank you," she answered politely. "Except for having to seduce that awful Simon…" she trailed off, but managed to keep her features and tone indicative of dislike of Simon.

"But he is dead?" Frederick asked hastily.

"I poisoned him," she said shortly. "He had no pulse. I dumped his body in the swamps-no one ever ventures there." That way, if it was discovered that he lived, she could not really be blamed. She had realized that if anyone found out that Simon lived, her life would be in grave danger.

"Good, good," Frederick said distractedly.

"And may I expect my reward soon?" she asked silkily.

"Yes, yes, of course." Frederick seemed to have something else on his mind entirely.

"Are you all right, my lord?" she asked, feigning concern.

"Yes, perfectly," Frederick said. "In fact, I have another proposition to put to you, my dear."

"Oh?" An arched eyebrow went up.

"I have been thinking…it is high time I took another wife. Do you not agree?"

Why was he asking her? "Whatever your highness feels is best, is, I am sure, right," she said diplomatically.

"I thought you'd agree," he said, smiling at her. "And I have been thinking also that you would be the perfect partner for me."

"I?" Viviane asked, stunned beyond belief. He could not mean that? How could she marry him? She loved the man he'd paid her to supposedly murder! But he didn't know that. But…marriage? To her? What was he thinking?

"Yes," Frederick said. "You and I are very much alike, you see. We are both ruthless, ambitious, power loving, and cold. We would be a perfect match. What do you say, my dear?" he looked at her expectantly.

Viviane was at a loss for words. What should she do? If she accepted him, they would no doubt marry soon, and then what would she tell Simon? He would no doubt hear of it besides she could write and let him know…what would he think of her? He would think her cold, calculating, ruthless…as Frederick said she was. He would hate her. But…if she turned Frederick down…what would happen? Suddenly a cold chill seized her. What if he knew? What if he knew that Simon lived? He could be planning to kill her, and if they were betrothed and she died, suspicion would not fall on him…but no, she was being foolish. Frederick couldn't know. What could she do?

"I accept."


	11. Rumors

After leaving Martalis, Simon traveled to a small country town by the name of Carvaen, and from there to Noren, a port town that was the best place to get passage to Lyons. Viviane was in his thoughts constantly, and every night he dreamt of her. He did not write to her from Martalis or Carvaen, but decided that Noren was so close to escape that it would be perfectly safe for him to write to her again. He was up all night writing, and in the morning he posted it as soon as he could. He walked back through town smiling, his step lighter. Seeing a greasy looking sailor by the port, he approached him. Adopting a more common accent, he asked "Are ye sailing to Lyons, good sir?"

The sailor turned, revealing a grizzled beard, scarred cheeks, and a crooked nose. He was clearly well traveled and a battle-hardened fighter. "Aye," he said "what's it to ye?"

"I'm seekin' passage there," Simon said. "M'brother's getting' married to some country wench, and he wants me t'be at the weddin'. Not sure why-we never were much of friends, y'see."

The sailor nodded knowingly, assuming, as Simon had intended, that he and his nonexistent brother had quarreled over a woman.

"Might ye have room on yer ship?" Simon asked.

"Aye, but it'll cost ye," the sailor replied.

Simon's eyes narrowed in pretended consideration. The man could not know that he had ample money for the trip at his inn. "How much?" he asked in a wary tone.

"Eh, ten gold ones," the sailor replied.

This was no hardship for Simon, but he knew that no poor, common traveler would have so much with him that ten gold pieces would be an easy price to pay. "Ten?" he exclaimed. "Why, that's highway robbery, it is, sir! Nay, I'll not go higher than four."

The sailor spat on the ground. "Six."

"Done."

Normally he should have bargained for less, but he had not the time. Shaking the old sailor's hand, he promised to return the following day with the six gold pieces. He made his way back to his inn, whistling cheerfully. One more day and he'd be safely away from Frederick's jurisdiction. One more day and he'd be on the way to Lyons. Grinning, he stepped into the inn and made his way over to the bar. He'd treat himself to a drink before going up to bed.

Sitting down next to a group of disreputable looking traders, Simon ordered some ale and tilted his chair back leisurely. He could afford to relax now. His ale arrived swiftly, along with a buxom barmaid who whispered suggestive things before being called away to attend another table. Taking a deep swig of it, he sighed. Closing his eyes, he relaxed, listening idly to the chatter around him.

"And I told her, look, Bess, I loves ye, but I ain't got time to be a married man. And she slaps me! Ungrateful wench if ever there was one, weren't she, Tom?"

"Aye, aye, I'll drink to that."

"Better a job I'd like to see you get, Rat."

"Did y'hear? King's getting' married."

Simon sat bolt upright at the last one. Married? Frederick was getting married?

He put his head down on the bar, trying to appear drunk, and listened harder.

"Married? Who's his high an' mightiness gonna marry, eh?"

"Don't know 'er. Some court wench. S'pposed to be a nice piece of baggage. Dark haired, tall, big breasted, curvy…all ye could ask for, I were told."

"D'y'know 'er name, Mikey?"

"Eh, somethin' with a v…Vivi-anne, or somethin'."

"Eh. Don't know 'er. Wish I did. Never bedded a court wench b'fore."

The men lost interest in the king's future bride, busy thinking about women they'd slept with. But Simon was still, shocked beyond belief at what he'd heard. Getting up slowly, as though drunk, he staggered up to his room and collapsed in a chair. Married. Viviane was getting married. To Frederick. How could that be?

He shook his head, disbelief flooding through him. She couldn't be. She loved him. She'd saved his life. She couldn't marry Frederick. Perhaps…perhaps she was just trying to draw suspicion away from herself…or perhaps Frederick suspected her, and was forcing her to become his wife! Rage coursed through him, and he stood up angrily. But he sat down again a moment later, realizing that Frederick had no way of knowing he lived. But this left him with the other option: Viviane didn't care about him, and wanted to marry the King. She'd probably lied to get him out of the country, pretending she'd been hired to kill him-or maybe she'd simply quailed at the thought of killing a man. Either way, she'd betrayed his love. And he'd written to her just the past evening! He'd told her to write to him at Lyons! How could he have been so stupid?

Viviane adjusted easily to life back in the court. She was charming, beautiful, seductive…everything she out to be. But her heart wasn't in it. As Frederick's fiancée, she had exalted status, may new outfits, money…everything that the old Viviane could ever have wished for. But now…she didn't have Simon. She'd agreed to marry Frederick out of fear for herself, wanting to protect herself from suspicion. But what if he married her before Simon could come and take the kingdom? And, more importantly, did Simon know?

"Milady?"

"Hmm?" Viviane looked up to see a page at her door. "Yes? What is it?"

"A letter for you, Milady. From a Lady Lynet."

Viviane schooled her features into mild happiness, but inside she was tortured. A letter. From Simon. No doubt he knew by now…what was he writing to say?

Taking the letter, she gave the page a gold piece and sent him away, going into her parlor to read it.

_Beloved,_ it began. Beloved! He still loved her!

_I have reached Noren without mishap, and plan to book passage to Lyons tomorrow. If luck is on my side, as it has been thus far, I should be in Lyons before the week is out. And then, my dearest, write to me, I beg of you. These past weeks have been torture-never knowing if I am safe or not, never knowing if you are, not being with you…I have been in agony, Viviane, without you._

_I cannot bear to be apart from you, my love. I dream of you every night, and you are always in my thoughts. I love you, my darling. You are my world, and I will not be complete until I am with you again. _

_I have heard no rumors about you lately that could indicate bad things, for which I am grateful. Any I do hear are unimportant enough as to be brushed aside. I require no explanations for past indiscretions. All I need to know is that you love me, that you are mine now. That we will always be together. I have never felt so strongly towards anyone before, and I need you to stay with me. Say you love me, Viviane, dearest._

_It seems I cannot go a paragraph without calling you by some term of endearments. How strange-I had never before thought myself to be of the romantic inclination, and yet here I am, up late at night, telling you I love you. What a fool I would seem to those who knew me at school. How different I am now. I am a changed man, Viviane, and it is all due to you. Your love has made me a better person than I was before, and I never would have become as I am now without you. I love you so much, my darling. I need you here. I ache for your presence-without you life is empty, meaningless._

_Oh, to be in Lyons now. Oh to be safe, to be receiving letters from you. Write with haste to Lyons, love. I will await your letters with longing._

_Yours ever,_

_Simon_

Viviane was overjoyed. He must know and not care! He loved her still! Eagerly, she sat down and penned a response to send to Lyons.


	12. The Cloaked Man

The cloaked man shrank back into the shadows as the messenger carried the note from Lady Viviane's bedroom. He watched the young man hurry down the stairs and turn into a broad hallway. Silently, he followed.

The messenger was taking an odd, very long route. Surely Lady Viviane could not suspect anything…no, of course not. The cloaked man smiled.

At last they wound up in the kitchens. The messenger tucked the letter in his pocket, sat down, and proceeded to eat and chat with cooks for the next half hour. The cloaked man watched from the doorway.

At last, the messenger stood, brushed off his crumb-covered hands, blew a kiss to one of the female cooks, and turned to go. The cloaked man followed him once more. This time he was not so disappointed. The messenger went straight to the stables, where he saddled a swift racing horse and set a course for the road to the sea ports. The cloaked man saddled his own horse, black as night, and rode in pursuit.

The messenger, once in one of the port towns, rested in an inn, having ale and cakes to fill his stomach before taking the letter to the docks. As he stepped out of the inn, making his way through the gathering darkness to the stable, a hand grabbed his arm. His scream was stifled by another hand over his mouth. Turning, he found himself face to face with a tall, cloaked man.

"My Lord!" he gasped.

The man gave a curt nod. "You're to give me the letter you carry," he said quietly. "King's orders."

The messenger knew what would happen if he disobeyed. Given a choice between that outcome and the Lady Viviane's reaction to him giving up her precious letter, he decided the latter posed far less of a threat to his personal safety. He handed it over. The cloaked man released him abruptly, sending him whirling backwards into a pile of damp hay. With a swirl of his cloak, he mounted a great black horse and disappeared into the night.

The cloaked man took the letter straight to his chambers. He sat down at his desk, pulling the letter from his breast pocket. As he read the address, his lips curved in a slow smile. Lyons.

When he had finished the letter, the man stood up calmly and rang for a servant. "Take this to the King," he said, "at once."


	13. Confrontation

Viviane awoke the next morning to a pounding on her door. Blinking, she got up sleepily, wondering where Ariana was. She was normally ready and waiting when her mistress awoke.

Pulling on a red silk wrapper, Viviane went over to the door and opened it. "Good morning," she said politely. A lady never let her irritation show if she could help it.

A solemn looking man in palace livery stood there. "Lady Viviane, you're to accompany me to the King's chambers at once," he said briskly.

"Of course," Viviane said smoothly, wondering what this could possibly be about. "Just let me dress myself. My maid appears to have disappeared."

The man shook his head. "At once, Lady Viviane," he repeated, rather coldly. "The king dislikes being kept waiting."

Viviane shrugged. Frederick knew what she looked like, it would do her no harm to appear before him clad only in silk slippers, a nightgown, and a wrapper. "As you wish," she said demurely. "Lead the way."

The man said nothing as they walked, and Viviane could not shake off a slight sense of unease. He seemed so somber, as though something terrible was about to happen. She shivered, drawing her wrapper closer around her.

When they reached the door to Frederick's study, the man opened the door for Viviane. She stepped inside, and heard the dull thud as it closed firmly behind her. As the door closed, Frederick, seated in his chair, looked up. A rather self satisfied smile spread across his face. "My dear Viviane," he said, laughing ruefully. "What a fine trick you've played on us all. And here I though you were on my side."

A cold, icy fear spread through Viviane's stomach. He knew. Frederick knew. But how? Calling on all her acting abilities, she made an innocent, confused face and said "My lord?"

"Save your tricks, Viviane," Frederick told her. "I read your letter."

Viviane had never felt so afraid in her life. He'd read her letter. He knew Simon lived. He knew where he was likely to be.

"Letter?" she asked, stalling for time.

"The one you wrote my step-son, Simon," Frederick said, lips curved in a malicious smile. "You really ought to have been more careful. Letters are so very easy to intercept."

"My lord," Viviane began, "I really don't know what-"

"I'm talking about?" Frederick laughed. "I believe you do." Opening a folded piece of paper that lay in front of him, he read "My love, I ache for your return. I am certain that you will triumph-and indeed, how can you not? For, love, good conquers evil, does it not? Is that not the established way of things? So it is, and so it shall be, Simon. And then-oh blessed thought-we shall be together once again. I tremble for it. Your ever devoted, Viviane."

As he finished, he raised an eyebrow. "Can you still claim to not know of what I speak, Viviane?" he said, a menacing tone creeping into his voice. "After that, the damning evidence written and signed in your hand? Can you deny it?"

She could not. She knew it. He knew it as well. Viviane bowed her head, unable to muster a defense. There was nothing she could say now that would persuade him she was innocent. It was hopeless. A tear began to form in her eye, but she blinked it away. She would show no weakness.

Frederick smiled in cruel delight. "You cannot," he said softly. "And so, my dear little fiancée, I am afraid that we must cancel our engagement. After all, it would cause no little scandal if my new bride were executed publically, would it not?"

Viviane drew in a sharp breath. Executed!

"Ah, yes," Frederic said, delight plain. "Yes, you will be executed publically-and your beloved Simon will be forced out of hiding to come and rescue you. And I will have you both."

"No!" Viviane said, unable to help the exclamation that escaped her lips. Not Simon. Not him too. She could take anything if only he were safe. And now…by her own foolishness she had doomed them both. She hung her head, ashamed of herself.

"Take her," Frederic said sharply, nodding to a guard standing near. "Dungeon."

The guard nodded abruptly, grabbing Viviane's arm roughly and dragging her off down the hall. He pulled her harshly along, at last depositing her in a small cell in the castle dungeon. As his footsteps died away in the distance, Viviane let the tears fall down her face.


	14. A Hard Decision to Make

Simon sat on a balcony overlooking the gardens of the palace. It was four days since he'd arrived and still no word from Viviane. He wasn't sure why this mattered-after all, she had turned her back on him to marry his murderous step-father. He wasn't going to have anything more to do with her. But still, he would have expected her to write, at least…

"Simon."

Simon turned. Michael stood in the doorway. "Yes, Michael?"

"Viviane," his friend said shortly. "It appears that your step-father plans to execute her. He apparently discovered a letter she had written you and not yet mailed. Its contents gave no doubt as to where her loyalties lay, and he had her arrested."

Simon shook his head. "It has nothing to do with me anymore," he said. "She made the decision to become Frederick's fiancée. Her loyalties lie with him. The letter must have been to throw me off."

Michael sighed. "Simon," he said, irritation creeping into his voice, "you love this women. Deny it all you want, but it's plain that you still love Viviane. And I'd say that the letter makes it pretty clear she still loves you. After all, she would have told Frederick if it was merely to throw you off, would she not?"

"Or," Simon said, squelching the growing hope within his chest, "this could be yet another ruse, one meant to bring me out into the open so that Frederick can end the threat to his rule by killing me."

"Do you really believe that she would do that?" Michael asked softly. "Really, Simon?"

Sighing, Simon shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know anymore," he said tiredly. "Once I would have said yes without hesitation. Then, after we became lovers and she helped me to escape, I would have said no at once. But now…now I do not know what I can be sure of."

"I'll help you," Michael said. "If you go to rescue her, I'll come along. I'll bring an army. Frederick is in the wrong here, and I have no qualms about attacking him."

Simon was silent.

Michael sighed again. "Just think over what I've said," he told his friend, turning back. "Let me know what you decide."

Simon gave a half-hearted nod, and Michael left.

With his friend gone, Simon was able to give in to the conflicting emotions raging through him. Closing his eyes, he put his head in his arms and bit his lip. Could what Michael had assumed be true? That Viviane still loved him? But if that was indeed the case, why would she have agreed to marry Frederick? But even as he wondered these things, the biggest question rose to his mind: was he willing to stake Viviane's life on the chance that she had betrayed him?

Viviane sat in her cell, arms wrapped around her slim frame, head lowered. She had cried all that she would cry the first few days she had been there in the dungeon, and she was determined to cry no more. Nothing that could be perceived as a weakness could escape her. Nothing at all.

Sighing tiredly, she lay back on the thin pallet that amounted to her bed. She hadn't slept since they brought her there, and it showed. She had been too busy thinking of Simon, wondering if he had heard, if he would have the sense to stay away and let her die. And, at the same time, hoping he would come.

Simon sat out on the balcony for hours, hardly knowing what he was doing. All he could think of was that Viviane's life was at stake. But he wasn't even sure of that.

At last he got up and made his way down to Michael's study. Knocking on the heavy oak door, he called "Michael?"

"Hmm? Simon? Is that you? Come in!" Michael called out.

Simon did so, creaking open the door. "I'm going back," he said shortly. "For her."

"Good man!" Michael exclaimed. "I knew you'd make the right decision, given time."

Simon laughed rather harshly. "I'm still not sure if it is," he said bitterly. "I can only hope."

"I'm sure it is," Michael reassured him. "Wait and see."


	15. Departure from Lyons

Frederick smiled cruelly. His plan was going well. Viviane was in the dungeon, worrying frantically and unable to warn Simon, and he had heard reports that Simon was planning to leave Lyons. Alone. He smiled again, broadly.

At that moment, the man in the cloak entered, bowing low to his sovereign. "My king," he said respectfully. "The rumors have been confirmed. Simon wrote a letter to a friend in one of the port towns, and we intercepted it. He is coming-_alone_-to rescue his beloved lady."

Frederick laughed. "The idiot is playing right into our hands. Excellent. Remind the captain of the guard to have soldiers stationed all around the execution area when the time comes. How long till he arrives, do you think?"

"My sources say anywhere from four days to ten, depending on sailing weather."

"Set the execution for two weeks from now. And good work. Keep this up, and you could be my grand advisor."

The man bowed again. "Your majesty does me much honor."

With a flourish of his cloak, he was gone. There was no need to tell Frederick that King Michael of Lyons was mustering troops and loading them onto warships. He smiled grimly. He had waited long for this opportunity, and he would not lose it.

Simon stood on the wharf, gazing silently out at the calm seas before him. He was still unsure as to whether or not rescuing Viviane was the right thing to do. His heart told him that Viviane loved him, and that this must be a ploy on Frederick's part to force him out into the open so that he could finish the job Viviane had failed to accomplish, or if this was all an elaborate ruse that his stepfather and Viviane had concocted together to make his death even more humiliating and painful then if Viviane had merely killed him outright the first night they slept together.

"Simon?"

He turned. It was Ysbeau, her kind face creased with worry. "You are alright?" she asked with concern. She cared deeply for her husband and his friends, and it troubled her to see Simon looking so tormented. Michael had told her only that Simon's beloved was to be executed for treason, not that she had first been engaged to the king after pledging her love to Simon.

"I am fine, Ys," he reassured his friend's wife. "I fear for Viviane, that is all." He hoped she believed him.

She did. "Your worry does you much credit," she said. "She must be a lucky woman indeed to be your love."

"But not as lucky as I to have yours," Michael interrupted, coming up behind his wife and wrapping his arms around her. "I will hasten back as soon as Simon is crowned as the rightful king, my dear."

Ysbeau turned, angling her face so that she could kiss him lightly on the lips. "I will pray for you every day," she told him softly, "and stare out the window until you return."

Michael's eyes softened, and he bent to kiss her, a long, lingering kiss of love.

Simon turned, pain twisting in his gut. Michael was truly blessed to have such a happy marriage to Ysbeau. His wife adored him, and the feeling was so obviously mutual. They did not have to worry that one had betrayed the other. They did not have to fear for each other's lives. Whereas he…he did not even know if he had a love, for Viviane was far away and her feelings unknown to him.

"Simon? Are you ready?"

He turned around again at Michael's question. "We can leave whenever you wish," he answered, his voice tight with unspoken pain.

"I am ready," Michael said. "Let us go."

Simon nodded, and the two men stepped onto the ship. Michael's soldiers were already on ships sailing for the ports, and they were to sneak towards the high castle and meet up with Simon and Michael there.

As the ship sailed out of the port, Ysbeau's slim figure faded into the mist, growing smaller and fainter until it disappeared entirely. Michael sighed and turned to Simon. His friend had begun pacing the decks. "Relax," he told him. "We will get there in time."

Viviane did not cry when they told her that her execution date had been set. She gritted her teeth and held her head high, looking disdainfully at the man who delivered the news. "I will require a bath and a different gown for the occasion," she informed him loftily, masking her fears-both for herself and for Simon.

The man nodded. "I will see what his majesty says on the subject," he told her, bowing slightly and exiting the dungeon. Viviane bit her lip on the tears until he had gone. She could not hold them back any longer. "Oh, Simon," she whispered achingly, her heart breaking. "I am so sorry, my love."


	16. A Chance to Change

"_Lisrael mi vo ca Teira_

_Si vai domingo rae da_

_Eis nar sil mar con faedra"_

Viviane sang softly to herself the first song she and Simon had ever performed together. If she closed her eyes, she could almost picture the room, how the guests looked, Simon's eyes as they bowed…

"Lady Viviane?"

She covered her shock at the page's presence by raising an eyebrow mockingly. Her haughty appearance was one she affected when she needed to appear in complete control of a situation-even if she was not.

"What is it?" she asked frostily.

The page looked rather taken aback at her coldness. Perhaps he felt it contrasted with her appearance. _But after all, _Viviane thought _I _am_ to be executed within days. Perhaps he expected fear?_

"King Frederick would like to know id you would be so kind as to dine with him this evening," the page told her respectfully, bowing gracefully.

Viviane's eyebrows shot up. She was stunned. What sort of game was Frederick playing? Had he decided that it was safer to poison her over dinner, and simply have Simon show up at an execution where he was to be the only victim? Curious, she asked "Did he tell you why?"

The page shook his head, then, evidently remembering that although Viviane was in prison, she was still above him in class, and that he must therefore speak to her, he added "No, my lady. He did not."

_Interesting…_ "Tell the king that I shall be there for the evening meal whenever he wishes it," she said, a slight smile crossing her lips, "but I will, of course, require other attire."

"Of course. The king has arranged for all of that. You are to be brought to your old rooms a half hour before dinner."

This was getting more interesting by the second, not to mention exceedingly perplexing. Whatever did Frederick want from her? "He knew I'd agree?" she asked.

"He said, my lady, that you would be too curious not to," the page told her, with another bow. "I will return when it is time for you to change for dinner, my lady."

_Curious…_she mused. _Very, very curious._

* * *

_  
_

Viviane dressed provocatively, as was her custom, for the dinner. A dark purple silk gown with paler purple accents and a low, sweeping neckline, but with a tight corset that pushed her breasts up. She wore gold jewelry that Frederick had given her as an engagement gift-after all, perhaps he was reconsidering. It could not hurt to flatter his masculine vanity a little no matter what the reason for the invitation might be

At precisely the right moment, Viviane made her entrance to Frederick's private dining room. Her gown swept on the floor behind her, crating a beautiful effect, and the short sleeves made her skin seem paler in the dark evening.

"Viviane…" Frederick said, looking up and noticing her presence.

"You asked to see me?" she said liltingly, as though it were a regular evening.

"Yes." He said shortly.

Abandoning pretenses, she said coldly "Is this to be my last supper? Am I to be murdered tonight, so as to not risk my survival at the execution? I should point out that last meals are traditionally the victim's choice and are generally held the day of the execution."

"My dear, dear, Viviane," Frederick said smoothly, "whatever gave you the idea that I wanted you dead?"

"Besides the fact that you ordered my execution in order to entrap your stepson?" she asked acidly. "Nothing at all."

Frederick laughed, a chilling sound. "I was only trying to teach you a lesson," he said, his tone becoming more oily with every sentence he spoke. "Now that you've been sufficiently frightened, I thought it best to tell you what's really going on, and make you the offer I planned to make since I found out about you and Simon."

Warily, she eyed him. She distrusted him completely, and would agree to no offers he made her.

"I want to lure Simon to your supposed execution," Frederick said, "and as he grabs you I want you to stab him with a dagger. He will be dead, and you can reign as my queen."

"What makes you think I would ever want to rule by your side?" Viviane spat, disgusted with how he saw her. "I may only seem a common whore, Frederick, but I have standards, and I am afraid you don't quite come up to snuff."

Frederick's eyes narrowed, and he hissed "So that is how it is, is it? You still choose that little bastard over me, when I would give you a kingdom."

"I would rather have Simon than any kingdom you could offer me," Viviane told him angrily, "and I am sure he will triumph over you and come to his rightful place on the throne."

Frederick laughed. "We shall see…" he said, smiling. "Oh, yes, we shall see indeed."


	17. Execution

Simon and Michael, disguised as commoners, made their way towards Frederick's palace. The soldiers, all disguised likewise, but well armed, had filtered into nearby villages the day before, and were even now making their ways towards the castle, posing as innocent citizens wishing to see a traitor to the crown executed.

Simon felt physically ill. He didn't know which frightened him more-the thought of Viviane being executed because he failed to help her, or the mental image of Viviane linking arms with Frederick and kissing him passionately, as she had once kissed him.

He shook his head. He was being ridiculous. Of course her death would be worse. Far, far worse. He sighed. But was he doing the right thing?

"Simon."

Simon half turned. "I'm fine," he reassured Michael.

"Review the plan," his friend suggested. "It'll distract you."

Simon made a face at him. As if anything could distract him now. "The soldiers, disguised as peasants, will be there to 'witness' the execution. They will await our signal. Some of them will have already snuck up to the archers and knocked them out, taking their uniforms and weapons. You and I, wearing the robes of an executioner and his assistant under our cloaks, will trade places with the real executioner and his assistant before they go on to kill her. You slit her bonds with a knife, I grab her and pull her to safety, away to a waiting carriage nearby, and you give the signal for the soldiers to attack."

"Good," Michael said. "Ready?"

"Of course," Simon answered coldly, his stomach turning to pure ice. "I have been for days."

* * *

The day of Viviane's execution dawned bright and clear. Viviane was woken unceremoniously by a servant, dragged from her cell, and given a bath in her old rooms. She was then instructed to dress and put her hair up, to make the severing of her head from her neck swifter and easier. She complied, choosing a pale pink gown with gray accents, in order to make herself look especially young, innocent, and helpless, and putting her hair in a simple yet elegant bun twined with pearls on a gray velvet ribbon.

"Are you ready, my lady?" the maid questioned.

Viviane did not trust herself to speak. She did not wish to appear weak by betraying her fear with her quavering voice, so she simply nodded stiffly, and followed the maid out into the hall. A guard met her there, and he grabbed her arm, roughly pulling her along towards the execution area.

Frederick, dressed gaudily for the occasion, sat smugly on his gilded chair, eagerly awaiting his triumph.

Behind him, the cloaked man concealed a grim smile.

* * *

Knocking the executioner and his assistant out and tying them up had been childishly simple, and Simon and Michael, having donned their disguises, followed a few guards out into the execution area. Simon looked around. It felt odd to be back here, unrecognized, and in fear of his, Michael's, and Viviane's lives.

He tried to catch sight of Viviane, but she had not entered yet. Frederick, however, sat, looking rather self satisfied, on a gilded throne near the executioner's platform.

Simon turned his masked head away to hide his revulsion and anger at seeing Frederick sitting there, preparing to calmly murder Viviane.

Viviane entered the execution area with her head held high, meeting no one's gaze. She walked calmly and with poise towards the execution platform. The guards led her to the foot of the stairs, and the executioner's assistant held out a hand to help her climb. He offered her a blindfold. She shook her head.

She had assumed they would ask if she had any last words, but they did not, merely gestured for her to kneel, which she did, not betraying her fear in the slightest. Simon, standing behind her, felt a fierce burst of pride at her bravery. He realized that she could not have betrayed him, not ever. She was true to him, and was prepared to die for his sake. She did love him. She must.

Viviane lowered her head, but to her surprise, the assistant slit her bonds, pulled her to her feet, and shoved her towards the executioner. Before she had time to react, a voice whispered in her ear "Do as I tell you and you will not be harmed."

Simon pulled Viviane off the platform, heading towards the gates. Michael had given the signal, and the soldiers were attacking Frederick's men. But Frederick did not like people ruining his plans. Quickly, he jumped up, grabbed Viviane forcefully from her current captor, and dragged her up into the palace. Simon swore and followed the pair.

Frederick dragged Viviane all the way up to his bedroom, where he threw her on the bed and ripped her dress off, leaving her clad in only her chemise.

"Frederick, you bastard, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Viviane spat at him, clawing at him, trying to get him away.

"I'm going to kill you," he snarled at her, "but first, I am going to have from you what you would have given me on our wedding night, and I am going to have you until you are broken and begging for mercy, and I will have you yet again, and again, and again. And then, finally, I will kill you, and leave your mutilated body for your precious Simon to find."

"You're a madman," Viviane hissed, punching his face. She knew she had given him a black eye. If he survived, it would hurt the next morning. She smiled grimly and doubled her efforts to injure him.

"Bitch," Frederick said coldly. Shoving her down, he held her against the covers and loosened his trousers. "You will regret disobeying me," he told her, triumph lighting his face.

Simon didn't know which room they had gone into. He swore again, viciously, spinning around in circles. He had to find them. He had to stop Frederick before he hurt Viviane.

"He took her to his bedroom," a voice said, coldly.

Simon whirled around. A cloaked man stood at the top of the stairs, eyeing him disinterestedly. "He's going to rape her." The man added. "And the kill her."

"Tell me where he sleeps," Simon begged. "I will be in your debt for eternity and beyond."

The man gave a short laugh. "I have waited for Frederick's downfall patiently for years," he told Simon. "Never fear, I will help you. All I ask is that you allow me to help you kill Frederick, and that you elevate me to a high office once you assume the throne."

"Whatever you ask you shall have," Simon promised rashly. "Please, just show me the way."

The man beckoned. "Come with me."

Simon followed without hesitation, pulling his dagger from its sheath as he ran.

Frederick let his trousers fall to the floor, and he reached for Viviane with a sickening look in his eyes. "You are mine now, little whore," he hissed. "All mine."

"Get your filthy hands of her, Frederick," Simon spat from the doorway. "Get up and face your fate like a man, not the sniveling coward I know you to be."

Frederick turned. "You know nothing, princeling," he said contemptuously. "Kill the traitorous bastard," he added, glancing at the cloaked man beside Simon.

The cloaked man threw back his hood and smiled. "As you wish, sir."

He and Simon rushed at Frederick, who, stunned, could only grab up a spear lying near the bed for protection. He lunged at Simon, stabbing his arm, but the cloaked man was swift, and his dagger slid into Frederick's side a mere second later. Simon threw his own dagger into Frederick's chest before collapsing against a table for support. Viviane gritted her teeth. Frederick was still standing. Grabbing a heavy candelabra from the table, she brought it down across the back of his head. Frederick collapsed, dead, to the floor. As his body connected with the stones, it made a hollow thud. The cloaked man nodded in recognition to Viviane, then stabbed the corpse on last time. "He is finished," he said, calmly, icily. "He will ruin no more lives."

But Viviane barely heard him. Her eyes went to Simon, who had collapsed on the floor, blood oozing from his arm. "My God," she whispered, horrified. Tearing a strip from the dress that lay in tatters on the bed, she ran to him, kneeling by his side and tying it tightly around his arm to stem the flow of blood.

"Simon," she whispered brokenly. "Simon, my love. I am sorry. So terribly sorry. This is all my fault."

Simon raised himself unsteadily on one elbow. "Look at me," he said, his voice a mere whisper. Viviane found his eyes and held them through the tears falling from her own.

"Do you love me?" he asked her. "Answer truthfully, for if you say no, I do not care to live any longer."

"Do I love you?" Viviane began sobbing even harder. "Simon, of course I love you. Don't you dare leave me. Don't ever. Not matter what happens." He was falling backwards. "Simon, damn you, open your eyes," she cried. She fell across his chest, frantically kissing him. "Simon!" She cried again.

Simon heard, faintly, Viviane's voice. He strained to make out the words. _I love you…don't leave me…_ She loved him! He had not been mistaken. She truly did love him. With an enormous effort, he pulled himself up, lifting her face to his. With great tenderness, he brushed the tears from her cheeks. Slowly, he lowered his lips to hers, and he kissed her lingeringly, a lover's kiss.

Viviane kissed him back, suddenly deepening it, passionately pulling him to her. Neither noticed the cloaked man as he picked up Frederick's body and left the room. Viviane sat up, pulling her chemise off, and Simon undid his pants. In a moment he was inside her, their bodies moving together, like lovers who have been separated and are learning each other's bodies anew. He brought his mouth to her chest, kissing every inch of her that was exposed, finally moving back to her lips. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly.

Together, they forgave each other everything, and forged a new beginning.

**A/N: Before anyone asks, no this is not the end. I plan on at least two more chapters, and if people would like to hear about Ysbeau and Michael's reunion as well, ask me, write nice long reviews, and I'll write it.**


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